


all the better to dance with you.

by outerjaw



Series: another life || en pointe. [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Drama, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outerjaw/pseuds/outerjaw
Summary: In circles and footsteps I follow;I spin and spin and you cut through the dizziness.In words that are whispered and kept to ourselves,I am able to smile in the truth of your love.
Relationships: Lucifer & Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy), Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: another life || en pointe. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577041
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	all the better to dance with you.

The studio holds their breath when the music begins. It is almost always so loud that the mirror paneling shakes under the vicious tones wafting from wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder, as one at a time each ballerina showcases their recital solo. The final show of the season calls for this small, tight-knit ballet company to put each of their dancers in the spotlight, if only for a moment. 

Previously, the size of their troupe had been quite a problem— such a terrible one, in fact, that a handful of dancers had been hired all at once to fill in the necessary spaces. Several men and women were hired with the expectation to fall in sync with the existing group in a mere matter of days: an impressive feat for any lineup at their current level. Though, as impressive as it may be, there is one man in particular who feels a certain anxiety as he realizes the current dancer’s cue is about to end. Professional and hardworking attitude be damned, this  _ premier danseur noble _ has always been aware of the way dancers talk as soon as the music cuts. 

Even during the performance, he can sense that they are whispering, but he does his best not to pay attention. The current dancer, a slightly younger man by the name of Sandalphon, has a way of captivating the  _ premier _ as few have done before. 

Lucifer has rarely ever experienced a pull to others in his field— in  _ general, _ if he were to be honest. Perhaps it is out of shallowness that he pays so much attention now, overhearing the rumors that surrounded Sandalphon’s arrival to the company. 

_ “Haven’t you heard? He’s gay.” _

Slim legs, long and complementary to the rhythm in his steps and spins, reveal through the fabric of stretched leggings that his muscle is carefully toned. The finely fitted clothing continues up and over his hips, to his waist, to his chest— the neck is high, but it is sleeveless, and somehow detracts nothing from his gracefully moving arms: a trait just as important to a ballerina as their legs. 

To anyone who dares look too long at the company’s lead dancer, who holds a front-row view of each solo piece, it would seem that he is merely watching the program unfold. What they are not aware of is that he shares the very trait which they have decided to rebuke in Sandalphon. 

His career has been long, and arduous, and above all else, lonely.

It is easy to pass off the fact that he lives alone, and always has; “married to dancing” is a heavy crown that he bears the weight of, especially with his level of grace and skill. Awards and fame seem to benefit everyone but him, in the end. Yet for the one thing he loves to do, as he looks out into an audience of amazement and wonder, he has become accustomed to this way of life. He accepts all of its faults and caveats for what they are. 

Though, if he could have a single wish, he might ask that he can look into the eyes of an equal and simply be  _ Lucifer. _

Sandalphon, the final act of the program, marks his ending with a bend of his back, chest stretched outward and heaving from the given effort. His toe points, out of all directions, towards Lucifer. In response, the normally straight-faced  _ premier _ smiles, and claps lightly. He does not notice that he is the only one at first, and does not  _ have to, _ because the others swiftly follow his direction without asking. And still, they go on.

_ “He dances well, considering… You know.” _

_ “No, no, I heard they make better dancers. They’re more feminine.” _

_ “I hope I don’t get partnered with him.” _

_ “Don’t you think it’s kind of creepy?” _

_ “Well, as long as he doesn’t touch me…” _

If Sandalphon can hear, he makes no indication.

By 7pm, most of the studio has been emptied. The early autumn night has begun to set in; Lucifer can see that the sky just out of the single studio window has turned to a deep shade of blue. From one side, he takes a sweater out of his dance bag, ready to walk out— from the other, Sandalphon looks to be doing the same. At least, this is what Lucifer can see out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man in the studio’s mirror as he is turned away.

He times their encounter impeccably. At the exact moment when Sandalphon looks up, Lucifer walks past and decides to offer idle chatter (which he did not notice anyone else do through the day, besides the snide comments they expected him to take part in) before he actually leaves the dance room.

“Your dancing today was wonderful to watch,” he says. Sandalphon has to crane his neck at Lucifer’s height;  _ He’s easily over six feet… six and a half?! Even if I stand, he’ll tower over me. And… was that a genuine compliment? _ He can only blink, unsure of how to respond or gauge their interaction. So Lucifer continues on. “I think it went well for the first day.”

_ Why is he talking to me? _ “...Right, thank you.”

“Did you train with a company before?”

“Ah, no, I was a fill-in for independent shows.”

“It must be a little… overwhelming.”

They share a look that betrays the topic of conversation, though not directly referred to. In the silence, Sandalphon stands, suddenly weary of his company, but the look in Lucifer’s eye is so genuine that in an instant he feels bad for assuming the worst from it. 

Whatever his goal is, Sandalphon does not expect his hand to reach out, waiting to be shaken. 

He takes it, and in the gesture, he receives an unfeigned introduction. “My name is Lucifer. It’s nice to meet you, Sandalphon.”

Red meets blue, and in them both is the feeling that they cannot turn away.

* * *

“This is… your personal studio?”

“Yes. It’s only rented, but I come here when I’d like to clear my mind.”

Before Sandalphon is a large, empty, white room. There is not a single mirror on the walls; they look rather unfinished, in fact, like a project abandoned yet kept clean nonetheless. 

Lucifer walks ahead of him, going to each and every window (there are four on each wall, all of which are considerably large) to open them. Sandalphon quickly realizes what he is doing, and helps him in opening the rest.

“I never dance with the windows closed,” Lucifer says, staring out in one particular direction. Sandalphon follows his gaze and sees a vibrant green grove, light of the early morning bouncing off of the trees as if they were water, and a light breeze carrying the faint scent of nature into the open room. Sandalphon could understand why Lucifer would want to keep everything open, but… 

“You don’t have any mirrors,” he notes, double checking his assertion by turning and examining the room. “I guess you don’t need them, right? Being the  _ premier _ —”

“I don’t like them.”

Sandalphon, stunned into silence, wait for Lucifer to continue, but he does not.  _ Mirrors, _ he thinks,  _ in this place, a reminder that you’re dancing alone. No matter where you’d look, all you’d see is yourself. Why is that so hard for you to say? Can’t you admit your feelings?  _

But in an instant, Lucifer’s hands are on Sandalphon’s waist. He is able to recall the exact reason they are here, even though deep down there is an aching hope for  _ another _ reason he was invited. Disappointment threatens to overtake him in this private dance recital.  _ You should be used to this. It’s just another job, he’s just another partner. It’s just a dance. You’re just a fool. _

— Until something soft meets his lips, and his heart threatens to stop.

“It’s just us.” A low voice. A room with no mirrors, but the windows wide open. A dance for the two of them; for no one else. The music begins. A sun, high above them, streams light that is warm enough to stave the breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece, and the next in the series, was written for [BisKitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BisKitty) here on AO3! Thank you as always for supporting my writing.
> 
> If you'd like to make a fic request, I have a special note for you up on my twitter [right here](https://twitter.com/outerjaw/status/1208521831793037313)!  
> Feel free to follow me or shoot me a DM anytime.


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